Springtime's Touch
by phantom-jedi1
Summary: Written for the MortRouge Spring Drabbles Contest. A simple stroll turns into something quite different for a masked man.


_Written for the MortRouge Spring Drabbles Contest. I won absolutely nothing. :)_

I sighed wearily and stretched, staring with bleary eyes at the half-finished score before me. For reasons beyond my comprehension, the music simply refused to flow smoothly from mind to paper and an earlier sojourn throughout my domain had done nothing to ease my difficulties. With a second heavy sigh, I took up my concealing cloak and hat, deciding to brave the terrors of the Parisian streets in an attempt to clear my head.

Once beyond the familiar confines of my Opera House, I hurried through the bustling crowds, intent on reaching the Bois de Boulogne where I could lose myself among the paths and gardens. The journey took far longer than I might have wished, the mild weather drawing out many a Parisian wearied of the indoors to which all had been confined this harsh winter. I silently cursed the springtime weather as I slipped through the crowds, wondering what had possessed me to leave my quiet cellars in the first place.

Reaching the Bois at last, I left the main paths in favor of secluded areas that saw few visitors. Immeasurably relieved to have left the scrutiny of the masses behind, I allowed myself to relax, taking a seat beneath a flowering tree, grateful to leave the bright sunshine for the comforting shadows of the leafy branches above me. My mind drifted aimlessly, so content was I in enjoying the relative safety of this unvisited corner of the gardens.

A sudden sound jolted me to full awareness. Unsure what had so disturbed my tranquil reflections, I rose from my comfortable position on the grass and warily cast about for the source of the sound. My gaze came to rest on a small girl crying pitifully a short distance away, a child of no more than four or five years. Acting upon a strange impulse, I called softly to her, pitching my voice so as not to startle her.

"Why do you cry, ma petite?"

She looked around, frightened, her glance coming to rest on my place beneath the tree. The terror in her blue eyes was evident, causing me to inwardly berate my stupidity. What child would not be frightened of a masked stranger?

Surprisingly, the terror was quickly replaced by simple confusion. Tears ran down her small face once more as she sobbed, "I've lost…I can't find…can't find…"

Unaccountably stirred to comfort her, I moved to kneel beside the small child, taking great care not to frighten her more. "Don't cry, little one. Tell me, what is it you are trying to find?"

"My maman." She swallowed back tears. "We were looking at the flowers and then she was gone...and I can't find her...and…and…"

"What does your maman look like?" I asked, quietly interrupting her slightly hysterical weeping.

She sniffled. "Everybody says I look just like her."

I nodded gravely, full well knowing the risk I took with my next words. "Do you want me to help you find her?"

Pure joy swept over her features, chasing away the shadows of her tears. "Oh, thank you, Monsieur!" Without warning, she hugged me tightly. Shaken, I gently disentangled myself, rising to my feet as I did so. I allowed her to take my hand as we headed back to the main pathways. Walking through the more crowded areas of the park, we drew many incredulous stares from onlookers. How strange the two of us must have looked: a tiny angel in white with golden curls aglow in the setting sun's light, strolling cheerfully alongside a masked monster in black. I tried to take no heed of the gawking gazes and muted whispers left in our wake, concerned solely with conducting the child to the flower gardens as swiftly as possible and returning to my peaceful home beneath the Opera.

After an eternity of pointed glances, we came upon the gardens. My ears soon caught the sound of a woman's frantic cry echoing throughout the darkening grounds.

"Rébecca! Rébecca!"

"Maman!" the child at my side cried happily. Without releasing my hand, she pulled me along with surprising strength for one so small, finally relinquishing her grip as a light-haired young woman came into view. The two embraced tightly, joyous in their reunion. Deeply discomfited by the visible affection between them, I spun away from the touching scene with the intent to leave quickly and quietly. A profound ache manifested itself somewhere deep within my lonely heart, silently longing for that simplest of things, a loving touch...

"Wait!"

The clear, childish treble froze me where I stood, forcing a reluctant turn back towards mother and child to see the latter running lightly in my direction. Reaching me, she solemnly examined my masked face before tugging at my gloved hand. Obliging her, I crouched down closer to her level. Clasped tightly in one pudgy hand was a small white flower, which she handed to me with a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Monsieur, for rescuing me," she said bashfully. Stretching to the very tips of her toes, she planted a shy kiss on my masked cheek. With a little girlish giggle, she ran back to her waiting mother and the pair headed down the paths hand-in-hand.

I watched them disappear into the lengthening shadows of the darkening garden, still holding a small white flower in one nerveless hand. Slowly coming to my senses, I smiled unseen behind the mask, raising my fingers to brush against the place where her innocent lips had touched.

Perhaps springtime was not so terrible after all.


End file.
